Walls
by The Matter's Settled
Summary: If Tracey is just cleaning a wall, then why does he feel like he hit one? - Tracey, Daisy.


**Walls**

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Tracey scrubbed, intensely focused on wiping every last bit of sludge off the walls. An upstart Pokémon trainer had used his Grimer for a gym battle and haphazardly fired sludge attacks all over the walls of the Cerulean City Gym's battlefield in a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to take out Misty's Starmie. It was Daisy's turn to clean the battlefield, a task she particularly hated, naturally being averse to manual labor and she called Tracey, using her irresistible charms to convince him to provide the much desired assistance.

Tracey's scrubbing motions were acute and deliberate, almost as if he was trying to erase a feeling rather than the disgusting grime. Even the Pokémon watcher, frantically scrubbing the walls of the battlefield, did not know what feeling he was trying to erase. It could have been sadness, disappointment, frustration, anger, excitement or possibly even love. It is even possible that it was an amalgamation, a strange fusion, of all of them. However, more likely than not, it was denial, a twisted emotion that had distorted his mind and body, compelling him to clean a room that did not belong to him, assuring him that his efforts would not go unrewarded.

But were these efforts really what girls wanted? Was this really what Daisy, the sensational sister from Cerulean City, wanted in a boyfriend? If Tracey was being honest with himself, if Tracey could put his convoluted emotions to the side and think rationally, if Tracey could stop hustling around the Cerulean City Gym, manically scrubbing away dirt with a pink scrub brush, the only scrub brush that Daisy could find, then he would probably conclude the answer to that question was no. Sometimes, Tracey wondered if he was being too nice.

"Do you want a soda or something?" a red-headed girl asked, as she walked into the pool room with a baby blue two-piece swimsuit on.

"I think I'll be fine. Thanks for asking Misty." Tracey responded, carefully inspecting his work, making sure he did not miss a spot.

"You really shouldn't do this," the red-headed girl replied, putting a special emphasis on the words "really shouldn't," an emphasis that Tracey understood all too well, special code designed to caution him from getting his hopes up too high.

The Pokémon watcher ignored it.

"It's really no trouble at all," Tracey responds with a forced smile, a gesture that Misty feels is less than genuine.

"You know she's with Surge right now?" Misty asks, before walking out of the room; although it is more of a statement than a question.

Tracey sighed. He did know this, perhaps all too well. It wasn't the first time that she had manipulated him into doing chores, odd and sweaty jobs that included cleaning the pool, feeding the Pokémon, watering the plants, and fixing the plumbing. Meanwhile, she was getting ravaged like a sex-kitten by the flavor of the week.

This week it was Lieutenant Surge.

Before Surge it was Gary Oak, a sailor on the S.S. Anne and the muscular swimmer who briefly apprenticed at the gym. As a matter of fact, at some times, he felt like it was everybody but him. He was the obvious choice, the boy who would listen to her when she had relationship problems, the boy who would do all sorts of odd jobs for her, the boy who thought about her constantly. Unbelievably, it seemed that she would rather have a middle aged man, a man who spent his days yelling at feckless gym apprentices and planting booby traps in trash cans.

A month ago he had almost given up. He had almost quit on the long-legged and stunning beauty, the girl who had always seemed so far out of reach. He had deleted her number, grabbed his pencil and paper, and started sketching again, drawing wild Pokémon with amazing skill, remembering the joy of putting pencil to paper in order to capture the beauty of nature, a joy he had rarely experienced, for one reason or another, ever since he met Daisy a few months ago. Just as the Pokémon watcher was recuperating from the pain of a broken heart, remembering wonderful things and forgetting unpleasant ones, he received a call.

He recognized the number instantly, even though it was not accompanied by caller ID.

It was a wonderful dream, a chance to win Daisy's heart, and a horrific nightmare, a chance for his heart to be mercilessly teased, all packaged into one, if such a thing was possible. Daisy, who was crying uncontrollably over the phone because she just had a nasty split with Gary Oak, called Tracey over to the Cerulean Gym. By the time Tracey got there, Daisy was lying on her soft blue bed, softly staring at the door with her beautiful blue eyes, appearing more than a little tipsy, looking like the innocent girl she no longer was.

"Why do I always fall for bad guys?" she asked, unprompted, simultaneously wiping away tears and smudging her mascara a little bit, yet still looking incredibly gorgeous.

The question left Tracey nonplussed in some regards but a part of him wanted to scream: "fall for me, I'm a good guy". Instead, he was absolutely silent.

Daisy looked Tracey in the eye and spoke with authenticity in her voice; a realness that she had never shown him before and never felt the need to show since.

"I wish I could find a good guy," she sighed, looking up at Tracey.

"I am a good guy," Tracey responded, as if he was letting Daisy in on a well kept secret.

"I know," Daisy responded, amiably kissing his cheek and leaving the room.

Ever since that night, Tracey had been unguardedly optimistic. Finally, he had a chance. He listened to her problems, assisted her with chores, waited patiently until she was ready to date again. The Pokémon watcher was confident that he would be Daisy's first choice once she recovered from her heartbreak.

He was not her first choice. He was not even a choice. Perhaps, he was never on the list of possible candidates. Either way, a month had passed since that fateful peck on the cheek and Daisy quickly started dating again, going out with guys that were the antithesis of him in every way, shape, and form.

After completely wiping away the sludge from the battlefield, Tracey stepped outside and looked at the stars, shocked that it was already so late, disenchanted with the idea of love and romance, frustrated that if Daisy asked sweetly enough he would indubitably help her again.

Sometimes, on particularly lonely and desperate nights, like tonight, he would wonder why he failed. Why could he not have something that so many other guys ostensibly attained with limited effort? He was a nice guy, a caring guy, a guy who would treat her with the love and respect that she deserved.

What more could she possibly want?

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